


Untitled Fandom One-shots

by The_Selective_Participater



Category: Supernatural, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff and Angst, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Natasha Needs a Hug, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-11
Updated: 2015-10-18
Packaged: 2018-04-25 22:54:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4979797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Selective_Participater/pseuds/The_Selective_Participater
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of one-shots not in any particular order or any particular length.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Promises

**Author's Note:**

> First attempt in the Hobbit fandom.  
> Anyways I own nothing, enjoy.

The little dirty blonde haired boy plopped down next to his smaller dark haired brother. After a day of rough housing, exploring and playing they were now sitting at their favorite spot at the edge of the lake. The sun would be setting soon but they wanted to spend as much time as they could out before they had to head home.

He glanced over at his brother who was uncharacteristically quiet and withdrawn. Throughout the day he would catch his brother watching him with a forlorn expression but when he asked what was wrong he would just shake his head and smile wistfully. He was startled out of his thoughts by a small voice.

"Fili?"

"Hm?" He hummed in response. A moment passed without any response and when he turned he was shocked to see fat tears snaking down his brother's cheeks.

"Kili!?" Gripping his brother's arm he turned him trying to find some injury, whatever it was that was causing his little brother pain. There was nothing though and he felt the beginnings of panic.

"Kili, please...what's wrong? Are you hurt?"

  
Fili sniffled quietly for a moment before answering in an even smaller voice."You're going to leave me. A-and I'll be alone. I don't want you to leave Fi! Please don't-" The rest of the words were drowned out by sobs and he didn't hesitate before pulling his brother into his arms and rocked him slightly when small arms snaked around him and held on with surprising strength. Eventually the sobs tapered off into the occasional sniffle and he pulled back enough to look at his little brother's face. Hazel eyes peered up at him through dark wet lashes looking absolutely miserable and his heart clenched in sympathy.

  
"Tell me what this is about, Kee. Why do you think I'm going to leave you?"

"Uncle Thorin...He said one day you will die go to the Halls of Aule with the other warriors. Then I will be alone."

Ah. Now it all made sense. Leave it to their tactless uncle to speak to a child of death, specifically the death of his own brother.

"Kili, I want you to listen to me. Hey look at me ok?" He waited until his brother looked up before continuing.

"I do not, nor ever plan to leave you."

"But Uncle said-"

"Never mind that. Do you remember what he said about promises?"

"Uh...Promises are forged from unbreakable iron..."

"And can never be broken." He finished. "I, Fili, son of Dris, grandson of Thráin, promise that I will never leave you, Kili, son of Dris, grandson of Thráin. No matter the circumstances. Do you believe me?" Kili nodded from his place tucked underneath his chin.

The sun was just now dipping beneath the horizon and both brothers turned to watch its descent.

"Me too, Fi."

"Hm?"

"I won't leave you. I promise."

"I believe you."


	2. Unclean

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I purposely didn't specify who the person is at the end. Choose whomever you'd like.

Blood is like sand.

Just like sand it manages to slide, slither, and wedge itself into every crack and crevice. Blood is like sand but it's not. Blood stains. First it's bright, a burst of color. An unexpected crimson shower. _He tried - God he tried. If he just finished a few seconds faster, if **he**  had been faster._

 

Then it congeals, seeps into the skin.

 

_The woman watched him work silently, her tears fell just the same. The only sound the beeping from the explosive collar around her neck. He had the device to stop it's detonation in his hands, had her life in his hands._

 

The vibrant red slowly dries. It's now more brown than red. Like a rust covered blade.

  
_**It's not you're fault.** Her last precious moment on this earth and she wastes it on reassuring him. He looks up at her kind smile and resigned hazel eyes and then she's gone. He's far enough away not to get blasted by the blowback but not enough to escape the mist-her-he didn't even know her damn name, will never know. There wasn't enough left of her._

  
It's all over his skin, seeping into his pores, staining his skin crimson...

  
Time passes or stands still - he can't tell- and he's in a bathroom, not his. The woman is falling off of him in dry black flakes leaving a trail of his guilt, his failure. He must have made a sound because gentle hands are carding through his blood sticky hair and he wants to push them away because he doesn't deserve this-

"Shh, Tony. It's ok. Shh."

His heart is pounding loudly in his chest and a dull roar begins to drown out the words. He's vaguely aware of his clothes being slowly removed and being carefully lowered into warm water. The water swirls with reddish-brown tendrils and he closes his eyes as a wash cloth scrubs his trembling form, erasing her from his skin.

"You're going to be ok, Tony. We're going to help you through this."

He doesn't answer but the roaring in his ears is slowly dying down. Cracking open his eyes just enough to see the pink tint of his skin. Just him, no longer the final resting place of her.

 "Clean?..." The word comes out through a tight throat and is chocked off at the end but they understand.

  
"Yeah, Tony. You're clean."


	3. Forgetfulness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had this happen to me(not this bad of course) and let me tell you it is not fun.

 

Sam was just rounding the corner into the kitchen when a pained hiss had him quickening his pace at the familiar voice. He was met with the sight of his brother who was slunched over and cursing underneath his breath.

"Dean?"

At the sound of his name Dean turned slightly and Sam saw that his right hand was cradled protectively against his chest.

"You son...of a bitch." Dean hissed out between short breaths.

"Where the hell is this coming from? What's wrong with your hand? Hey, you ok?" He asked annoyance turning to concern when his brother paled and swallowed convulsively.

"Who puts an empty pot...on the stovetop...and turns on the frigging stove?!"

Oh crap. He did. He turned on the stove then completely forgotten about it. That was almost two hours ago, it must have been super heated. Dean must have needed it and grabbed at it. He reached for his brother who flinched away with a pained whimper.

"Don't...don't touch it."

Sam winced in sympathy. His brother's pain threshold was almost unnatural and for him to be showing it to this extent meant that he was really hurting. He reached out again and placed a reassuring hand on the back of Dean's neck, wincing again when he felt small tremors traveling up his arm.

"Dean, you need to let me look at it ok? I'm really sorry but I gotta see how bad it is man."

"Oh it's real f-fucking b-bad, Sam." Dean groaned through clenched teeth but allowed Sam to hold his hand in his own while he slowly opened his tightly clenched fist. At the sight before him he was sure he was as pale as Dean at the moment. Dean was right, it was bad. The skin on the palm of his hand was bright red and swollen, large blisters were already forming and the skin surrounding the area had started to peel.

"Sorry, Dean. This...this is hospital bad."

"Y-yeah." Dean agreed bringing the injured hand back against his chest.

After grabbing both of their jackets he ushered his injured brother into the passenger seat of the impala before sliding into the driver's seat and heading to the nearest hospital.

 

Hours later on their way back to the bunker, Dean beside him,now mellow and calm due to the quality pain meds provided by the hospital, the ball of anxiousness still remained in his gut. Seeing his brother hurt was already bad enough but being the reason he was hurt was unbearable. He was halfway into a full on brood when something hit him against the side of the head and he turned to see Dean glaring at him after having hit him with his undamaged hand.

"What was that for?" Being hit with a non dominant hand shouldn't hurt _that_ bad should it?

"Don't get all emo on me, you big girl, I'm fine."

"I'm really sorry, Dean. I-"

"Yeah yeah, I know. Just try to remember next time ok?" He replied gently.

"Yeah, Dean. I'll do that."


	4. T-1000

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Character Death.

_Lincoln, Nebraska, 1996_

John dove to his left almost missing the baseball that slammed into the palm of his hand. He straightened, shaking out the sting and mock glaring at the grinning dark blonde teen.

"Whoa! You ok dad?" He glanced at his youngest sitting on a nearby bench watching the two throw the ball back and forth. Dean's baseball team won yet another game and as tradition the small family went out for celebratory ice cream. The apartment they were currently staying at had an open clearing right on the edge of the surrounding woods and that was where they were now. Dean still high from that morning's victory suggested tossing around the ball for a bit and John was happy to oblige. It wasn't often that he got to spend quality time with his boys but when he did he cherished every moment. Even Sam, who only watched would join in the playful banter.

"I'm fine Sam. Ease up on the fastballs, Dean."

"Yeah, Dean. I'm pretty sure dad would rather not end up in a hospital with a concussion."

"Sorry." Dean replied before stepping back a few feet to catch the returning ball before it got lost in the woods behind him. "I guess I don't know my own strength huh, Sammy." Sam huffed and rolled his eyes but soon joined John in laughter when Dean started flexing his muscles and twisting into ridiculous poses.

John was wiping tears from his eyes when he saw him. Standing just on the edge of the trees right behind Dean, way too close to Dean. Where did he come from? And why did he look so...familiar? The man stood watching, staring at him with sad dark eyes, jaw clenched with an indecipherable emotion. His hunter instincts were telling him that something was wrong about the whole thing and he opened his mouth to call out to his held eldest when the man took a few steps forward and the sharp report of a gun crackled through the air.

John watched in horror as his son staggered and bright red began to stain the front of his t-shirt.

"Dean!" He skidded to a stop right as his eldest's legs gave out and he slumped forward into his father's open arms. Suddenly Sam was there screaming his brother's name in a shrill voice not yet affected by puberty. God he was so young, they both were.

"D...ad?" Dean whispered through already pale lips.

"Oh my God!" John turned to see Mrs. Mueller who had just stepped outside the apartment with her small shar pei dog.

"Call 911!" He shouted. "Now!" He turned his attention back to his boys. Sam had his over shirt swaddled and firmly pressed against his brother's chest, trying desperately to staunch the flow but that too was soon soaked through. John removed his own over shirt and covered Sam's own.  
Dean shifted weakly with a pained groan and a trickle of crimson blood slid past slightly blue lips.

"Dad...h'rss..."

"Shh. Shh don't talk son. I know it hurts, help is on the way ok. I just need you to hold on ok?" His son was dying right here in his arms and there wasn't a damn thing that he could do about it. _God please don't take him away from me, from Sam. Not my boy. Not Dean._ But even as he prayed he felt his son growing weaker and weaker in his arms. With the sound of sirens rapidly approaching in the distance he watched as the light in his son's mossy green eyes dimmed then went out all together.

Sam was now openly sobbing, clutching at Dean's limp body.

But it was too late. Dean was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If the title wasn't clue enough I totally got the idea from Terminator 2: Judgment Day. 
> 
> So it's basically a 'what if Dean in season 4 decided the only way to stop the whole apocalypse thing was to stop the first seal from being broken by getting rid of the first seal AKA himself' scenario. 
> 
> So yeah that mysterious dude was totally future Dean.


	5. Furnace

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just had to throw in some angst.  
> What can I say, I'm addicted.

 

The genius sat, back against his headboard, Stark Pad in hand when his door swung open and a very peeved and very sick Natasha entered,swaddled in numerous blankets. She quietly shut the door behind her before making a beeline for the bed and silently sliding in besides him.

"Are you-"

"Not sick, shut up." She replied in a hoarse, gravelly voice.

"Sure you aren't, Red. Well come on." Tony said stretching his arm out in invitation. "You know the drill." As expected Natasha wiggled and rolled until she was plastered against his side. Tony reached down and grabbed the edge of his quilted sheets before covering them both up and pulling the redhead closer with one arm securely around her waist, the other still holding the Stark Pad.

A couple minutes of comfortable silence passed before he asked, "So...who'd you get it from this time. I'm guessing Clint, again."

"Get what?" She mumbled from where her face was pressed against his ribs.

"You know what, the cold. Ah, no." He spoke before she could protest. "You deny it every time but we both know that it's a cold.

They had the same exact argument every. Single. Time. It was routine. Natasha would get sick and seek out Tony, wherever he may be, because he always ran much hotter than most people and for some reason unknown to them both, she didn't mind showing just this bit of weakness in front of him.

"You know what you need? Some vitamin C or- Ow!" He yelped when he felt a sharp pinch on his thigh. "Did you just pinch me? You pinched me. I can't believe you pinched me."

"You deserved it."

"Yeah, I kinda did."

They lapsed into another comfortable silence before Tony spoke again, putting the Stark Pad down on the nightstand and wrapping the now free arm around the assassin.

"You've been getting sick more often, you should take better care of yourself." At his words he felt her stiffen in his arms. Craning his neck to see her face he was met with a blank mask. Shit, what did he say this time? He really needed to give the whole think-before-you-speak thing a try every once in a while.

"If this... bothers you, I can go." With that she started to rise but he tightened his grip, hyper aware that this was a woman that he once witnessed killing a room full of armed men with nothing but a ballpoint pen and a paperclip.

"Crap. No. Not what I meant. I don't mind this. I don't mind being your personal space heater slash teddy bear. I just don't like seeing you sick you know? I want you to take care of yourself."

Natasha peered up at him through dark lashes. "Are you...are you sure?"

"Tash, I mean it. Now shut up and cuddle with me."

Her only answer was to tuck her head underneath his chin and settle in. His arms tightened incrementally and he settled in for the long haul.


End file.
